An Original Belle by E. P. Roe

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He also related briefly how he had been driven from his home on theprevious night, and was told that policemen were in charge of thebuilding. Having received a permit to enter it, he sent his despatchto Washington, also a quieting telegram to his wife, assuring herthat all danger was past.

Then he went to his abandoned home and looked sadly on the havocthat had been made. Nearly all light articles of value had beencarried away, and then, in a spirit of revenge, the rioters haddestroyed and defaced nearly everything. His desk had been broken,but the secret drawer remained undiscovered. Having obtained hisprivate papers, he left the place, and, as it was a rented house,resolved that he would not reside there again.

On his return to Merwyn's home, the first one to greet him wasStrahan, his face full of the deepest solicitude.

"I have just arrived," he said. "I first went to your house and wasoverwhelmed at seeing its condition; then I drove here and haveonly learned enough to make me anxious indeed. O my accursed woundand fever! They kept the fact of the riot from me until this morning,and then I learned of it almost by accident, and came instantly inspite of them."

"Mr. Strahan, I entreat you to be prudent. I am overwhelmed withtrouble and fear for Merwyn, and I and mine must cause no moremischief. Everything is being done that can be, and all must bepatient and quiet and keep their senses."

"Oh, I'm all right now. As Merwyn's friend, this is my place.Remember what he did for me."

"Very well. If you are equal to it I shall be glad to have youtake charge here. As soon as I have learned of my daughter's andMerwyn's welfare I shall engage rooms at the nearest hotel, and, ifthe city remains quiet, telegraph for my wife;" and he sent Thomasto Dr. Henderson with a request to see him.

"No special change, and there cannot be very soon," reported thephysician.

"But my daughter--she must not be allowed to go beyond her strength."

"I will look after her as carefully as after my other patient,"was the reassuring reply.

"It's a strange story, Mr. Strahan," resumed Mr. Vosburgh, whenthey were alone. "You are undoubtedly surprised that my daughtershould be one of Merwyn's watchers. He saved my life last night, andmy daughter and home the night before. They are virtually engaged."

"Oh that I had been here!" groaned Strahan.

"Under the circumstances it was well that you were not. It wouldprobably have cost you your life. Only the strongest and soundestmen could endure the strain. Merwyn came to our assistance from thefirst;" and he told the young officer enough of what had occurredto make it all intelligible to him.

Strahan drew a long breath, then said: "He has won her fairly. Ihad suspected his regard for her; but I would rather have had hisopportunity and his wound than be a major-general."

"I appreciate the honor you pay my daughter, but there are somematters beyond human control," was the kind response.

"I understand all that," said the young man, sadly; "but I canstill be her loyal friend, and that, probably, is all that I evercould have been."

"I, at least, can assure you of our very highest esteem and respect,Mr. Strahan;" and after a few more words the gentlemen parted.

The hours dragged on, and at last Dr. Henderson insisted that Marianshould go down to lunch. She first met Strahan in the sitting-room,and sobbed on his shoulder: "O Arthur! I fear he will die, and ifhe does I shall wish to die, too. You must stand by us both likea loyal brother."

"Marian, I will," he faltered; and he kept his word.

He made her take food, and at last inspired her with something ofhis own sanguine spirit.

"Oh, what a comfort it is to have you here!" she said, as she wasreturning to her post. "You make despair impossible."

Again the hours dragged slowly on, the stillness of the housebroken only by Merwyn's delirious words. Then, for a time, therewas disquiet in bitter truth.

All through the dreadful night just described, an ocean steamer hadbeen ploughing its way towards the port of New York. A pilot hadboarded her off Sandy Hook, and strange and startling had been histidings to the homeward-bound Americans. The Battle of Gettysburg,the capture of Vicksburg, and, above all, the riots had been theburden of his narrations.

Among the passengers were Mrs. Merwyn and her daughters. Dwellingon the condition of her son's mind, as revealed by his letter, shehad concluded that she must not delay her departure from England anhour longer than was unavoidable. "It may be," she thought, "thatonly my presence can restrain him in his madness; for worse thanmadness it is to risk all his future prospects in the South justwhen our arms are crowned with victories which will soon fulfilour hopes. His infatuation with that horrid Miss Vosburgh is thesecret of it all."

Therefore, her heart overflowing with pride and anger, whichincreased with every day of the voyage, she had taken an earliersteamer, and was determined to hold her son to his oath if he hada spark of sanity left.

Having become almost a monomaniac in her dream of a Southern empire,she heard in scornful incredulity the rumor of defeat and disasterbrought to her by her daughters. All the pride and passion of herstrong nature was in arms against the bare thought. But at quarantinepapers were received on board, their parallel columns lurid withaccounts of the riot and aglow with details of Northern victories.It appeared to her that she had sailed from well-ordered England,with its congenial, aristocratic circles, to a world of chaos.When the steamer arrived at the wharf, many of the passengers wereafraid to go ashore, but she, quiet, cold, silent, hiding the angerthat raged in her heart, did not hesitate a moment. She came of arace that knew not what fear meant. At the earliest possible momentshe and her daughters entered a carriage and were driven up town.The young girls stared in wonder at the troops and other evidencesof a vast disturbance, and when they saw Madison Square filled withcavalry-horses they exclaimed aloud, "O mamma, see!"

"Yes," said their mother, sternly, "and mark it well. Even theseNorthern people will no longer submit to the Lincoln tyranny.He may win a few brief triumphs, but the day is near when our ownprincely leaders will dictate law and order everywhere. The hourhas air passed when he will have the South only to fight;" and inher prejudice and ignorance she believed her words to be absolutelyinfallible.

Strahan met them as they entered, and received but a cold greetingfrom the lady.

"Where is Willard?" she asked, hastily.

"Mrs. Merwyn, you must prepare yourself for a great shock. Yourson--"

Her mind was prepared for but one great disaster, and, her self-controlat last giving way, she almost shrieked, "What! has he taken armsagainst the South?"

"Mrs. Merwyn," replied Strahan, "is that the worst that couldhappen?"

A sudden and terrible dread smote the proud woman, and she sunkinto a chair, while young Estelle Merwyn rushed upon Strahan, and,seizing his hand, faltered in a whisper, "Is--is--" but she couldproceed no further.

"No; but he soon will be unless reason and affection control youractions and words. Your family physician is here, Mrs. Merwyn, andI trust you will be guided by his counsel."

"Send him to me," gasped the mother.

Dr. Henderson soon came and explained in part what had occurred.

"Oh, those Vosburghs!" exclaimed Mrs. Merwyn, with a gestureof unspeakable revolt at the state of affairs. "Well," she added,with a stern face, "it is my place and not a stranger's to be atmy son's side."

"Pardon me, madam; you cannot go to your son at all in your presentmood. In an emergency like this a physician is autocrat, and yourson's life hangs by a hair."

"Who has a better right--who can do more for a child than a mother?"

"That should be true, but--" and he hesitated in embarrassment, fora moment, then concluded, firmly: "Your son is not expecting you,and agitation now might be fatal to him. There are other reasonswhich you will soon understand."

"There is one thing I already understand,--a nameless stranger iswith him, and I am kept away."

"Miss Vosburgh is not a nameless stranger," said Strahan; "and sheis affianced to your son."

"O Heaven! I shall go mad!" the lady groaned, a tempest of conflictingemotions sweeping through her heart.

"Come, Mrs. Merwyn," said Dr. Henderson, kindly, yet firmly, "takethe counsel of an old friend. Distracted as you naturally are withall these unexpected and terrible events, you must recognize thetruth that you are in no condition to take upon you the care ofyour son now. He would not know you, I fear, yet your voice mightagitate him fatally. I do not forbid you to see him, but I do forbidthat you should speak to him now, and I shall not answer for theconsequences if you do."

"Mamma, mamma, you must be patient and do as Dr. Henderson advises,"cried Estelle. "When you are calm you will see that he is right.If anything should happen you would never forgive yourself."

The mother's bitter protest was passing into a deadlier fear, butshe only said, coldly, "Very well; since such are your decreesI shall go to my room and wait till I am summoned;" and she roseand left the apartment, followed by her elder daughter, a silent,reticent girl, whose spirit her mother had apparently quenched.

Estelle lingered until they had gone, and then she turned to Strahan,who said, with an attempt at a smile, "I can scarcely realize thatthis is the little girl whom I used to play with and tease."

But she heeded not his words. Her large, lustrous eyes were dim withtears, as she asked, falteringly, "Tell me the truth, Mr. Strahan;do you think my brother is very ill?"

"Yes," he replied, sadly; "and I hope I may be permitted to remainas one of his watchers. He took care of me, last winter, in analmost mortal illness, and I would gladly do him a like service."

"But you are hurt. Your arm is in a sling."

"My wound is healing, and I could sit by your brother's side aswell as elsewhere."

"You shall remain," said the girl, emphatically. "I have some ofmamma's spirit, if not all her prejudices. Is this Miss Vosburghsuch a fright?"

"I regard her as the noblest and most beautiful girl I ever saw."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes."

"Well, I shall go and talk reason to mamma, for sister Berta yieldsto everything without a word. You must stay, and I shall do myshare of watching as soon as the doctor permits."

Mrs. Merwyn thought she would remain in her room as she had said,but the fountains of the great deep in her soul were breakingup. She found that the mother in her heart was stronger than thepartisan. She MUST see her son.

At last she sent Thomas for Dr. Henderson again, and obtainedpermission to look upon her child. Bitter as the physician knewthe experience would be, it might be salutary. With noiseless treadshe crossed the threshold, and saw Marian's pure, pale profile; shedrew a few steps nearer; the young girl turned and bowed gravely,then resumed her watch.

For the moment Merwyn was silent, then in a voice all too distincthe said: "Cruel, unnatural mother, to rob me of my manhood, tochain me like one of her slaves. Jeff Davis and empire are more toher than husband or son."

The conscience-stricken woman covered her face with her hands andglided away. As by a lightning-flash the reason why she had forfeitedher place by the couch of her son was revealed.

CHAPTER LIII.

"MISSY S'WANEE."

THERE is no need of dwelling long on subsequent events. Our storyhas already indicated many of them. Mrs. Merwyn's bitter lesson wasemphasized through many weary days. She hovered about her son likea remorseful spirit, but dared not speak to him. She had learnedtoo well why her voice might cause fatal agitation. For a time shetried to ignore Marian, but the girl's gentle dignity and profoundsorrow, her untiring faithfulness, conquered pride at last, and themother, with trembling lips, asked forgiveness and besought affection.

Blauvelt arrived in town on the evening of the day just described,proposing to offer his services to the city authorities, meanwhilecherishing the secret hope that he might serve Marian. He at lastfound Strahan at Merwyn's home. The brother officers talked longand earnestly, but, while both were reticent concerning their deeperthoughts, they both knew that a secret dream was over forever.

Marian came down and gave her hand to the artist soldier in warmpressure as she said, "My friends are loyal in my time of need."

He lingered a day or two in the city, satisfied himself that theinsurrection was over, then went home, bade his old mother good-by,and joined his regiment. He was soon transferred to the staff of ageneral officer, and served with honor and distinction to the endof the war.

Mrs. Vosburgh joined her husband; and the awful peril throughwhich he and her daughter had passed awakened in her a deeper senseof real life. In contemplation of the immeasurable loss which shemight have sustained she learned to value better what she possessed.By Estelle's tact it was arranged that she could often see Marianwithout embarrassment. So far as her nature permitted she sharedin her husband's boundless solicitude for Merwyn.

Warm-hearted Estelle was soon conscious of a sister's affectionfor the girl of her brother's choice, and shared her vigils. Shebecame also a very good friend to Strahan, and entertained a secretadmiration for him, well hidden, however, by a brusque, yet delicateraillery.

But Strahan believed that the romance of his life was over, and heeventually joined his regiment with some reckless hopes of "stoppinga bullet" as he phrased it. Gloomy cynicism, however, was not hisforte; and when, before the year was out, he was again promoted,he found that life was anything but a burden, although he was soready to risk it.

At last the light of reason dawned in Merwyn's eyes. He recognizedMarian, smiled, and fell into a quiet sleep. On awakening, he saidto her: "You kept your word, my darling. You did not leave me.I should have died if you had. I think I never wholly lost theconsciousness that you were near me."

The young girl soon brought about a complete reconciliation betweenmother and son, and Merwyn was absolved from his oath. Even as adevoted husband, which he became at Christmas-tide, she found himtoo ready to go to the front. He appeared, however, to have littleambition for distinction, and was satisfied to enter upon duty ina very subordinate position; but he did it so well and bravely thathis fine abilities were recognized, and he was advanced. At last,to his mother's horror, he received a colonel's commission to acolored regiment.

Many of Mrs. Merwyn's lifelong prejudices were never overcome, andshe remained loyal to the South; but she was taught that mother-loveis the mightiest of human forces, and at last admitted that herson, as a man, had a right to choose and act for himself.

Mr. Vosburgh remained in the city as the trusted agent of thegovernment until the close of the war, and was then transferredto Washington. Every year cemented his friendship with Merwyn,and the two men corresponded so faithfully that Marian declaredshe was jealous. Each knew, however, that their mutual regard andgood-comradeship were among her deepest sources of happiness. Whileher husband was absent Marian made the country house on the Hudsonher residence, but in many ways she sought opportunity to reduce theawful sum of anguish entailed by the war. She often lured Estellefrom the city as her companion, even in bleak wintry weather. HereStrahan found her when on a leave of absence in the last year ofthe war, and he soon learned that he had another heart to lose.Marian was discreetly blind to his direct and soldier-like siege.Indeed, she proved the best of allies, aware that the young officer'stime was limited.

Estelle was elusive as a mocking spirit of the air, until the lastday of his leave was expiring, and then laughingly admitted thatshe had surrendered almost two years before.

Of the humble characters in my story it is sufficient to say thatZeb barely survived, and was helpless for life. Pensions from Merwynand Lane secured for him and his mother every comfort. Barney Gheganeventually recovered, and resumed his duties on the police force.

He often said, "Oi'm proud to wear the uniform that Misther Merwynhonored."

I have now only to outline the fortunes of Captain Lane and "MissyS'wanee," and then to take leave of my reader, supposing that hehas had the patience to accompany me thus far.

Lane's wound, reopened by his exertions in escaping to Washington,kept him helpless on a bed of suffering during the riots and forweeks thereafter. Then he was granted a long furlough, which hespent chiefly with his family at the North. Like Strahan he feltthat Merwyn had won Marian fairly. So far was he from cherishingany bitterness, that he received the successful rival within thecircle of his nearest friends. By being sincere, true to nature andconscience, Marian retained, not only the friendship and respectof her lovers, but also her ennobling influence over them. Whilethey saw that Merwyn was supreme, they also learned that they wouldnever be dismissed with indifference from her thoughts,--that shewould follow them through life with an affectionate interest andgood-will scarcely less than she would bestow on brothers cradledin the same home with herself. Lane, with his steadfast nature,would maintain this relation more closely than the others, but thereader has already guessed that he would seek to give and to findconsolation elsewhere. Suwanee Barkdale had awakened his strongestsympathy and respect, and the haunting thought that she, like himself,had given her love apparently where it could not be returned, madeher seem akin to himself in the deepest and saddest experience.Gradually and almost unconsciously he gave his thoughts to her,and began to wonder when and how they should meet again, if ever.He wrote to her several times, but obtained no answer, no assurancethat his letters were received. When he was fit for duty again hisregiment was in the West, and it remained there until the close ofthe war, he having eventually attained to its command.

As soon as he could control his own movements he resolvedto settle one question before he resumed the quiet pursuit of hisprofession,--he would learn the fate of "Missy S'wanee." Securinga strong, fleet horse, he left Washington, and rode rapidly througha region that had been trampled almost into a desert by the ironheel of war. The May sun was low in the west when he turned from theroad into the extended lawn which led up to the Barkdale mansion.Little beyond unsightly stumps was left of the beautiful groves bywhich it had been bordered.

Vividly his memory reproduced the same hour, now years since, whenhe had ridden up that lawn at the head of his troopers, his sabreflashing in the last rays of the sun. It seemed ages ago, so muchhad happened; but through all the changes and perils the low sob ofthe Southern girl when she opened the way for his escape had beenvibrating in stronger and tenderer chords in the depths of his soul.It had awakened dreams and imaginings which, if dissipated, wouldleave but a busy, practical life as devoid of romance as the law-tomesto which he would give his thoughts. It was natural, therefore,that his heart should beat fast as he approached the solution ofa question bearing so vitally on all his future.

He concealed himself and his horse behind some low, shrubby treesthat had been too insignificant for the camp fires, long sinceburned out, and scanned the battered dwelling. No sign of life wasvisible. He was about to proceed and end his suspense at once, whena lady, clad in mourning, came out and sat down on the veranda. Heinstantly recognized Suwanee.

For a few moments Lane could scarcely summon courage to approach.The surrounding desolation, her badges of bereavement and sorrow,gave the young girl the dignity and sacredness of immeasurablemisfortune. She who had once so abounded in joyous, spirited lifenow seemed emblematical of her own war-wasted and unhappy land,--oneto whom the past and the dead were more than the future and theliving.

Would she receive him? Would she forgive him, one of the authorsof her people's bleeding wounds? He determined to end his suspense,and rode slowly towards her, that she might not be startled.

At first she did not recognize the stranger in civilian dress,who was still more disguised by a heavy beard; but she rose andapproached the veranda steps to meet him. He was about to speak,when she gave a great start, and a quick flush passed over herface.

Then, as if by the sternest effort, she resumed her quiet, dignifiedbearing, as she said, coldly, "You will scarcely wonder, CaptainLane, that I did not recognize you before." He had dismounted andstood uncovered before her, and she added, "I regret that I haveno one to take your horse, and no place to stable him, but foryourself I can still offer such hospitality as my home affords."

Lane was chilled and embarrassed. He could not speak to her inlike distant and formal manner, and he resolved that he would not.However it might end, he would be true to his own heart and impulses.

He threw the reins on the horse's neck, caring not what becameof him, and stepping to her side, he said, impetuously, "I neverdoubted that I should receive hospitality at your home,--that isrefused to no one,--but I did hope for a different greeting."

Again there was a quick, auroral flush, and then, with increasedpallor and coldness, she asked, "Have I failed in courtesy?"

"No."

"What reason had you to expect more?"

"Because, almost from the first hour we met, I had given you esteemand reverence as a noble woman,--because I promised you honestfriendship and have kept my word."

Still more coldly she replied: "I fear there can be no friendshipbetween us. My father and brothers lie in nameless graves in yourproud and triumphant North, and my heart and hope are buried withthem. My mother has since died, broken-hearted; Roberta's husband,the colonel you sent to prison, is a crippled soldier, and bothare so impoverished that they know not how to live. And you,--youhave been so busy in helping those who caused these woes that youevidently forgot the once light-hearted girl whom you first saw onthis veranda. Why speak of friendship, Captain Lane, when riversof blood flow between us,--rivers fed from the veins of my kindred?"

Her words were so stern and sad that Lane sat down on the steps ather feet and buried his face in his hands. His hope was witheringand his tongue paralyzed in the presence of such grief as hers.

She softened a little as she looked down upon him, and after amoment or two resumed: "I do not blame you personally. I must tryto be just in my bitter sorrow and despair. You proved long agothat you were obeying your conscience; but you who conquer cannotknow the hearts of the conquered. Your home does not look likemine; your kindred are waiting to welcome you with plaudits. Youhave everything to live for,--honor, prosperity, and love; fordoubtless, long before this, the cold-hearted Northern girl hasbeen won by the fame of your achievements. Think of me as a ghost,doomed to haunt these desolate scenes where once I was happy."

"No," he replied, springing to his feet, "I shall think of you asthe woman I love. Life shall not end so unhappily for us both; forif you persist in your morbid enmity, my future will be as wretchedas yours. You judge me unheard, and you wrong me cruelly. I havenever forgotten you for an hour. I wrote to you again and again,and received no answer. The moment I was released from the iron ruleof military duty in the West I sought you before returning to themother who bore me. No river of blood flows between us that my lovecould not bridge. I admit that I was speechless at first beforethe magnitude of your sorrows; but must this accursed war go onforever, blighting life and hope? What was the wound you did so muchtowards healing compared to the one you are giving me now? Many ablow has been aimed at me, but not one has pierced my heart before."

She tried to listen rigidly and coldly to his impassioned utterance,but could not, and, as he ceased, she was sobbing in her chair.He sought with gentle words to soothe her, but by a gesture shesilenced him.

At last she said, brokenly: "For months I have not shed a tear. Myheart and brain seemed bursting, yet I could get no relief. Wereit not for some faith and hope in God, I should have followed mykindred. You cannot know, you never can know."

"I know one thing, Suwanee. You were once a brave, unselfish woman.I will not, I cannot believe that you have parted with your noble,generous impulses. You may remain cold to me if I merely plead mycause for your sake, that I may bring consolation and healing intoyour life; but I still have too much faith in your large, warm,Southern heart to believe that you will blight my life also. If youcan never love me, give me the right to be your loyal and helpfulfriend. Giving you all that is best and most sacred in my naturehow can you send me away as if I had no part or lot in your life?It is not, cannot be true. When I honor you and would give my lifefor you, and shall love you all my days, it is absurd to say thatI am nothing to you. Only embodied selfishness and callousness couldsay that. You may not be able to give what I do, but you shouldgive all you can. 'Rivers of blood flowing between us' is morbidnonsense. Forgive me that I speak strongly,--I feel strongly. Mysoul is in my words. I felt towards my cause as you towards yours,and had I not acted as I have, you would be the first to think mea craven. But what has all this to do with the sacred instinct,the pure, unbounded love which compels me to seek you as my wife?"

"You have spoken such words to another," she said, in a low tone.

"No, never such words as I speak to you. I could not have spokenthem, for then I was too young and immature to feel them. I didlove Miss Vosburgh as sincerely as I now respect and esteem her.She is the happy wife of another man. I speak to you from the depthsof my matured manhood. What is more I speak with the solemnity andtruth which your sorrows should inspire. Should you refuse my handit will never be offered to another, and you know me well enoughto be sure I will keep my word."

"Oh, can it be right?" cried the girl, wringing her hands.

"One question will settle all: Can you return my love?"

With that query light came into her mind as if from heaven. Shesaw that such love as theirs was the supreme motive, the supremeobligation.

She rose and fixed her lovely, tear-gemmed eyes upon him searchinglyas she asked, "Would you wed me, a beggar, dowered only with sorrowand bitter memories?"

"I will wed you, Suwanee Barkdale, or no one."

"There," she said, with a wan smile, holding out her hand; "theNorth has conquered again."

"Suwanee," he said, gravely and gently, as he caressed the headbowed upon his breast, "let us begin right. For us two there isno North or South. We are one for time, and I trust for eternity.But do not think me so narrow and unreasonable as to expect that youshould think as I do on many questions. Still more, never imaginethat I shall chide you, even in my thoughts, for love of yourkindred and people, or the belief that they honestly and heroicallydid what seemed to them their duty. When you thought yourself sucha hopeless little sinner, and I discovered you to be a saint, didI not admit that your patriotic impulses were as sincere as my own?As it has often been in the past, time will settle all questionsbetween your people and ours, and time and a better knowledge ofeach other will heal our mutual wounds. I wish to remove fear anddistrust of the immediate future from your mind, however. I must takeyou to a Northern home, where I can work for you in my profession,but you can be your own true self there,--just what you were whenyou first won my honor and esteem. The memory of your brave fatherand brothers shall be sacred to me as well as to you. I shall expectyou to change your feelings and opinions under no other compulsionthan that of your own reason and conscience. Shall you fear to gowith me now? I will do everything that you can ask if you will onlybless me with your love."

"I never dreamed before that it could be so sweet to bless anenemy," she said, with a gleam of her old mirthfulness, "and I havedreamed about it. O Fenton, I loved you unsought, and the truthnearly killed me at first, but I came at last to be a little proudof it. You were so brave, yet considerate, so fair and generoustowards us, that you banished my prejudices, and you won my heartby believing there was some good in it after all."

A white shock of wool surmounting a wrinkled, ebon visage appearedat the door, and the old cook said, "Missy S'wanee, dere's nuffin'in de house for supper but a little cawn-meal. Oh, bress de Lawd!if dere ain't Cap'n Lane!"

"Give us a hoe-cake, then," cried Lane, shaking the old woman's hand."I'd rather sup with your mistress to-night on corn-meal than sitdown to the grandest banquet you have ever prepared in the past.In the morning I'll forage for breakfast."

"Bress de Lawd!" said the old woman, as she hobbled away. "Goodtimes comin' now. If I could jes' hear Missy S'wanee larf oncemo';" and then she passed beyond hearing.

"Yes, Suwanee, if I could only hear your old sweet laugh once more!"Lane pleaded.